Gently creeks the floor, as feet bed bare touches it boards making their way to the kitchen.
Coffee black and hot as the mid-summer’s early morning awaits the early riser. And pages bound in leather begin to swoosh as they turn.
Morning devotion has begun. A Psalm is prayed and meditated upon, then names on a list that exists both on the terra firma field and Nirvana are called out making requests both spoken and unspoken.
And the Host, the Commander of Shabbath comes in with a silence that is deafening bringing rest and peace in the middle of a troubled world.
What god has there ever been spoken of that
bends a knee to listen and engages with those whose perfection is no better than filthy rags in the light of true glory?
Yet He calls me beautiful, His own, His daughter, perfectly made. How is it that this wonderful gift given?
Love, love, love – I am loved!
The knees and toes now curled inside the linen nightgown, bend and the hands raise in worship; And the sun, along with the hands rises giving praise for the gift of another day.
Latest posts by Diane W. Bailey (see all)
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